This last week I have thought about you constantly.  I have spent my meditations on crafting phrases and painting portraits in words of the many dreams I have for you.  Once when Elijah was six, I took him with my class on a field trip to the African American museum.  He was so small I had to lift him to see the glass cased artifacts of scuplted wood and hand-carved beads.  I bent low to share the stories of once mighty ancient kingdoms destroyed by greed and lust.  When we got to the image of Fredrick Douglas I stopped to ask my class to a question, “What is the most powerful force humans use to create change?”  I was so surpised when out of the sea of my college students and their families I heard his small voice squeak, “Words, Mamma, it words.”  And so our journey together starts here with powerful words at desire’s gate.  My guess is that it has been a while since you paid her a visit. 

                I encourage you to knock on the door.  It is a gentle timid tapping, as you are unsure of who is coming to answer.  At first, there is no response only the silence of a thousand broken dreams and unkept promises, but I motion for you to lean in to listen more closely and to knock more urgently.  I remind you of long along when you believed adulthood was limitless possibility and miracles.  The rap becomes a frantic beating, as you recall your passion for happy endings.  And then the door swings wide open and standing there framed in shadow is a child.  We both look closely at the familiar curves of her face and I motion for her to step out in the light. You gasp in recognition of your young self.  And now another child is standing next to her.  This child I know, she is dark-haired, blue-eyed, and already slightly chubby with her head bent over the pages of a thick dog-eared book.  The four of us are silent considering one another.  Then young Amber sighs deeply closes her book and addresses her peer.  “Anne of Green Gable, it’s one of my favorites you should read it sometime. See that lady standing outside, that’s you a few years from now…what do you think?” You are afraid as you start to remember this child and all of the hopes and dreams she had for you. 

                Your young self reaches up and touches your arm with wonder.  “This is me?  Am I in the happily ever after part yet? “Young Amber grins and I am struck by gums that show too much and lips already too thin.  She laughs, “Yes, I know, mine promised me a great novel by now and I caught her at Target last week buying a shirt when someone at work hurt her feelings. Still…” her face becomes more serious  flush with the innocence of childish hope, “she is writing again maybe we will get THERE”  And that single word, THERE holds so many things, goals for myself, dreams for my children, hope for my marriage, all my desires wrapped in faith that the world is good and life has meaning. 

     The door is closing now, the girls are fading and you and I are left standing alone.  I turn towards you and hold out my hand, “I know, I know life grinds away and it is easier not to have too many dreams.  But what if we remember those little girls and let them show us the path to desire?  What if we let ourselves dream once again of healthy bodies, sharp minds, and nurturing relationships? “You are not sure, and perhaps somewhat annoyed I have derailed your numbness.  But this is where words weave a magic web, your heart throbs with hope, and your soul thinks deeply about what is…and what could be.  Go to that child this week, spend time with her.  Ask her what she hoped for and give yourself the freedom to believe.  What would you change if you could?  What unmet needs do you have?  One lifetime is all we have.  Long ago we made some promises to ourselves, and that girl is still waiting to know if you will be the woman of her dreams.